


Chasm

by Gourmet



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Cunnilingus, M/M, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-23
Updated: 2014-09-23
Packaged: 2018-02-18 11:51:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2347502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gourmet/pseuds/Gourmet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They didn't speak. Words between them had long since dissolved into a tangle of threats and insults, and there was no place for that here."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chasm

**Author's Note:**

> written for [sharkfat](http://sharkfat.tumblr.com/)/[romidus](http://romidus.tumblr.com/) on tumblr who posted a smut drabble meme and asked for megatron/op. and i couldn't help myself. originally posted [here](http://sharkfat.tumblr.com/post/98173984132/jfc-this-got-long-1-they-didnt-speak-words).

They didn't speak. Words between them had long since dissolved into a tangle of threats and insults, and there was no place for that here. Allowing words would be to frame what they were doing, to invite a discussion about consequences and motivations. But if they didn't address it, never spoke up to give it a name, they could pretend it wasn't lingering between them outside of these moments.

So they didn't speak. But that didn't mean the chasm they chose to meet in was silent. Fans churned and engines growled, filling the air between the jagged, broken rock faces they grappled between. Because even in these arranged moments, they fought, as much for the sake of pretense as to determine how their coupling would play out.

It was with a triumphant snarl that Megatron shoved Prime's battlemask into the dirt, leveraging his greater weight to keep down his shoulders. He kicked, digging the tips of his pedes into the dirt, but before he could find enough purchase to shift their momentum, Megatron dropped his hips, pressing hard down against him and purring in his audial. Prime revved his engine and put up a token struggle for a few more kliks, but when Megatron shifted his thigh inward, pushing up between the Autobot's legs, he found his interface hatch hot, lubricant just starting to seep through the seams.

In another time, he would have teased, purred out lewd taunts and suggestions until the mech beneath him hiked himself up for the taking. But they had an arrangement, and it only took one sharp nip to the edge of Prime's helm before his panel snapped back, and Megatron growled. He pressed closer, shifting his thigh back and forth until a slick sheen of lubricant coated the armor, and minute shudders were running over Prime's frame.

Unfortunately, their time was limited, so Megatron didn't linger there long. He leaned back, the battle won, and took Prime's hips between his clawed servos. Where Megatron would have snarled and fought every step, Prime was typically more obliging, and when he was tugged, he adjusted his stance and stabilized himself on his knees. At this point, Megatron was usually quick to get his spike out, to sink into that readily offered heat and remind the Autobot what he had abandoned.

But the Terror of Kaon was more than just a well wielded spike, and the shout that escaped Prime - startled and muffled too late - was almost as pleasing as the way his valve clenched down on his glossa. He purred, driving his glossa deeper and dragging Prime's hips further back. A static noise hitched from Prime's vocalizer and Megatron curled his arm around one of his thighs, large enough to reach back and trace one clawed fingertip over the external node. Prime's hips jerked in his grip and his calipers cycled down, squeezing against his glossa and forcing more lubricant out onto it.

He could hear Prime's fans kicking into a higher setting and his servos digging out gouges in the rock of Earth's surface. But he was keeping a tight lock on his vocalizer now, and that just wouldn't do. Megatron shifted and slid his glossa out, flicking over the node clusters near the rim before turning to scrape the sharp points of his dentae over the folds of Prime's valve. He nipped and nibbled and soothed the sting with talented strokes of his glossa until he felt the thigh his arm curled around trembling.

But still nothing more than a staticy huff, so he hiked Prime's hips further up and dropped his lipplates, nipping at the external node almost hard enough to hurt before latching onto it. He sucked, hard, and hummed around the sensitive point, and he was finally rewarded with a high, thready whine and the insistent rock of Prime's hips. He rumbled loudly in return, nipping once more, for one more gasp, before pressing his tongue home again between the now-quivering folds of Prime's valve.

Megatron didn't need words to remind Prime of how intimately he still knew him, and he was rewarded with a string of half-caught whimpers and moans. They rang in his audials, as pleasing as any war cries, and when Prime jerked and overloaded, Megatron pressed his glossa deeper and snarled his victory over the Autobot's shout.

It was several kliks later before they parted and several more before they were both on their pedes, Megatron's faceplates smeared with lubricants and Prime too flustered to make optic-contact. But their truce held strong and not a word was spoken between them before they parted ways.

 


End file.
